Between the Wars
by giella
Summary: A generation of dragonriders "between the wars" await a Hatching. As the Pass draws to a close, how will the duty of the Weyrs be safe-guarded?
1. Chapter 1

[Disclaimer. I own only characters. Pern and all associated characters and places remain the property of Anne McCaffrey.]

"_Please let me have you. Please, please, please."_

Danil's whispering drew a smirk from several of the other candidates standing nearby. He resented that. As if they weren't all thinking the same thing. They all thought they'd be luckier just because they didn't say it. Let him fail at least before they thought themselves in a position to look down on him. Moreover, let them succeed first.

He ignored them, staring intently at one particular egg a half dragon-length away from where the candidates had assembled for the Hatching. It had a big pattern splashed all over one side which looked like a dragon's face if you looked directly at it. Smorn, a shy and worried looking candidate of twelve turns with whom Danil had become acquainted, had warned him against becoming attached to one egg. What if it narrowed your chances?

Thinking about Smorn cast a shadow of worry over Danil's fragile optimism. A boy Smorn's age would not have been eligible to stand even three turns ago, with the last Hatching here at Ista. Due to a shortage of eligible older boys in the area, for many had all been Searched to other weyrs, younger boys from the surrounding holds had been put forward instead. The Pass was almost over as well. The urgency of weyrling training had diminished. It might be better as well during an Interval to have dragonriders who would live longer; he had heard some of the dragonriders discussing it at dinner the previous night.

What if his sixteen turns counted against him now? Clutches grew smaller and occurred further apart at the end of a Pass and during an interval. Dragons knew things; they might concur with the dragonriders, even as they hatched. Overhearing various snippets of dragonlore over the past three days had put many doubts into his mind. Everything suddenly seemed against him. Weyrbred youths who had spent several hours every sevenday with the eggs since they hatched were surely in better stead than he was. Just about every youth in the weyr seemed to be eligible.

He tried to comfort himself with the numbers. Twenty-nine eggs between thirty-five candidates. There were also two golden eggs which he discounted from the number, as well as the eight girls who were eligible. It had seemed like the odds were with him.

It had felt like such an achievement to be Searched. The blue rider who had suddenly dropped out of the sky to inspect him as he mended a net, minding his own business. The blue dragon had been so interested, sniffing him and prodding at his shoulders to such an extent he had nearly fallen backwards, that he had felt special. Now he couldn't help but wonder that perhaps the dragon was just desperate to bring at least one candidate home and had been following a false trail.

His family had been pleased. They had dropped everything today to be here to watch him impress. He couldn't see them from where he was standing, but he knew that his mother, three sisters and two younger brothers were eagerly watching in the stands. Not his father or his eldest brother, but someone had to collect in the baskets that caught the rich crustaceans which were the major tradepiece of their small fish hold. He wished it were catch day instead. No way would even his exploits on the Hatching Ground interfere with the gutting, the cleaning and the packing which needed the whole family's involvement.

Their presence there now was mortifying. Their pleasure at his Impression would be incomparable to their disappointment if he failed. The pressure was intense; it felt like even more bad luck mounting against him.

For sure he was his own worst enemy, he suddenly realised. So many negative thoughts were crowding his head, he'd actually tuned out the dragons' humming, which he realised had crescendoed to an almost unbearable level. It would happen soon and it would be just his luck to perhaps put off the one dragon who might show the slightest interest in him.

The weyrling master signalled for them to move forward. The queen had lowered her massive head towards a large egg on the periphery of the clutch, which rocked with great urgency and her throat bulged with her soprano hum. It was about to begin.

*

As the boys hot-footed it towards the array of duller coloured eggs, the weyrling master held back one or two of the girls who made to follow them. Luru smiled good-naturedly at them. They were so nervous.

"Follow me girls." H'nas, the weyrling master, beckoned them to follow him towards the dais, where the two queen eggs were arranged. The girls fell into step behind him. Luru was grateful for her thick soles as she moved off with the group. Her elder sister, Lexir, had abandoned her boots as soon as she arrived in the Weyr, preferring the thin sandals their mother had packed for them. Ista was no warmer than the beast hold which was their home but their mother had packed them anyway. They did seem to be what many of the weyrfolk wore, although less so the dragon riders. Still, most of the candidates had worn them. Luru suspected her sister's choice of footwear stemmed as much from a need to fit in as anything. They had only arrived last night. Even so, Lexir had managed to aim dismissive sneers at Luru's leather clad ankles at no less than six opportunities.

Luru had received a "quick word" with their mother before they left.

"Please don't argue with her," she'd implored her younger daughter. "Don't disgrace yourself. Be gracious if she impresses and you don't." It had been a very quick word. Luru's eyes had filled with tears and she'd fled so that they might dry before the Search riders noticed something. What words had her sister received?

None, Luru thought now, that had made any particular impression on Lexir. Lexir pushed in front of her as they moved towards the eggs, apparently ignoring the burning she truly must be feeling in her feet by now. Her strides exuded confidence as she pulled ahead of Luru. Determinedly, Luru moved to walk alongside her. She wouldn't be made to feel inferior. They were all equals on the sands.

Lexir only smirked.

As she caught up, Luru was abruptly brought up short by H'nas as they came within a quarter-dragon length of the eggs.

"Form a circle," he told them. As soon as the girls had followed his instructions, he spoke again, loudly over the dragon's humming.

"I have said this before, but for benefit of those lately arrived I will repeat it. Don't look at the eggs, look at me." He said this sharply to a girl who was staring wide-eyed at the golden shells with her mouth hanging open in awe. She quickly paid her attention to H'nas, who went on.

"They won't hatch for some time, not before at least half the duller eggs have hatched and made Impression. When they do crack, you are not to move. Two queen hatchlings at once creates a very volatile situation. If the queens become confused by your movement, they could fight, believing there is some kind of competition for Impression. There is a record which describes this. One of the queens failed to make Impression and suicided. The other queen was badly injured and the Impression was quite an unstable one." H'nas paused. He had every girl's attention; even Lexir had stopped rolling her eyes.

"Let the queen come to you," he said softly. "There is no real competition. Queens know whom they want. They're just protective of their riders."

Luru smiled suddenly. Though she was suitably solemn after H'nas's grave warning, she was also filled with hope. Even the nasty comments Lexir had made the night before – "They only took you because they're desperate for numbers" – lacked any power to deflate her optimism now. A queen would find her if she wanted her. This wasn't a contest that Lexir could win or fight her sister for. Now H'nas had prohibited it, Lexir couldn't even try to block her or push in front like she had before.

There was a collective murmur from the crowd and Luru realised the humming had reached an apogee. A dragon had been born.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer. I own only the characters. Pern and all associated characters and places belong to Anne McCaffrey.

It wasn't his egg, but Danil's hopes leapt anyway. The dragon had kicked a large hole in the side of its shell, and the hole was widening. No one could see what colour it was yet. Danil moved closer, along with the many of the other boys, away from the centre of the clutch were the candidates seemed to fancy their chances as being the best.

Danil was able to rationalise the twinge of guilt as he turned away from his chosen egg. Perhaps Smorn had been right. He suddenly remembered his eldest brother who had been courting other girls in the fish hold for years whilst still cherishing a glow for Marta, the girl who remained oblivious of his affections for the time being. He hadn't given up on love, Partor had told Damil, but he might yet find it with someone else.

Pubescent infatuation; _that_ was what he was comparing with the scorching swell of his bosom and the threatening clench of his gut and bowels. He couldn't breathe.

_No._ If he didn't get his act together he would be removed from the Hatching Ground. Sacred as Hatchings were, the safety of a candidate would take priority with the Weyr. If he collapsed, he risked trampling and burns from the heated sand. He bent over and expelled the breath from his lungs slowly, remembering what the healers had taught him. He hadn't suffered this way since he was a small child. Children either outgrew it or it killed them.

_I outgrew it. _

The thought was so clear in his head that he thought for a moment it might be his dragon's voice. Unbending his knees, he bolted upright to look about him, eager and hopeful.

"His name is Kupeth!" The delighted announcement came from a very young candidate, not Smorn, who looked as if his bronze could make a light snack of him. The pairing however, was joyous to behold. Kupeth's eyes, at a level with his rider's, were a transcendent shade of golden green and the rider had reached out with his fingertips, just daring to touch the dragon which had taken part of his soul as his own.

Danil found himself choked with tears this time. He couldn't begrudge the boy Kupeth. Envy swelled his heart but jealousy could not be permitted to sully this moment. They were made for one another, that pair. Surely no other could have done.

The crowd, which Danil had expected to burst into applause, merely murmured in hushed awe at the sight.

It occurred to Danil the spectator's reverence might be owed to the novelty of this moment at Ista Weyr. Three years since a Hatching. This might as well be the First Hatching, the wonder of the moment all so fresh and miraculous.

The moment broke as the tiny rider and his dragon dispatched themselves from the sands, heading towards a weyrman who was acting as an usher for the new weyrlings.

The humming had settled to a lower pitch now and the queen bugled in triumphant celebration of the first Impression.

Almost as if in reply, other eggs burst open in a shower of sticky shards. The candidates began to shuffle about in uncertainty. Danil didn't know where to go either. Back towards the centre, towards his egg perhaps? He looked at where it was settled and was shocked to notice a pile of shards in its place. The dragon… Which was his dragon? There were three on the sand right now: a blue, a green and one whose colour was a somewhat ambiguous shade of turquoise for now. Surely none of those had come out of his egg. He had guessed at least a brown, from the size of it.

Danil searched frantically with his eyes, not daring to move in case he caused a stir. Or perhaps missed his chance. Where was he? Where was his dragon?

_Dragon_, he tried to call out with his mind. How did that even work?

Cheers went up simultaneously, and it was obvious that there had been three successful Impressions.

"_Hipth!"_

"_Gulth!"_

"_Raleth!"_

_No!_ His dragon had already impressed. Which had it been? Danil felt an urge to run. He tempered himself. He was in between several eggs at the moment. It might be best to stay put.

Inside, he mourned that egg. If he had just stayed faithful, and kept up his vigil. Whatever dragon had come out of that egg, he pictured it as wearing the face of that pattern on the shell. He imagined the eyes turning red with rejection as they saw Danil run off to try his chances with the hatching bronze who had so clearly the favoured object of his affections. No wonder the dragon had found someone else. Yes, it was best to stay right here.

The rustling crack to his right caught his attention. Hatching almost under his feet, a damp green hatchling spilled out of her shell still curled up nose to tail and wings all around. Strands of membrane were clinging all over her. No one had noticed her yet.

Pity and hope compelled Danil to assist her. She looked dazed from the abruptness of her birth, as if she had been rudely awoken before sunrise, having not had enough sleep.

"I'm Danil," he spoke to her as he carefully reached for her wings to stretch them out. Danil ignored the commotion behind him as another dragon hatched. Mere seconds passed before he heard, "His name is Lingth!" That was Smorn's voice, he was sure. He didn't look around. In a second, perhaps he would be calling out this sleepy little dragon's name.

That possibility suddenly seemed less likely as the dragon recoiled from his touch.

"I'm only trying to help little one. You need to stretch out those wings and dry yourself out." He began to become concerned for her. The dragon was moving but shut out the world behind her eyelids, and remained closely huddled still wrapped in her own birth matter.

He looked up. There was a great deal of noise, with dragonets squeaking with hunger. However, someone had noticed the inertia of the little green and a dragon rider and a weyrhand were on their way over. He patted the green.

"It'll be alright."

"It's a slow hatching." T'mar commented to Bryn, the dragon healer accompanying him towards the green who appeared to be in some distress.

"Aye," Bryn said in agreement. Only twelve hatchings in as many minutes and a green who had failed to display the usual ravenousness of all hatchlings. They reached her and Bryn bent next to her to begin his examination.

"Lad, what's her name?" T'mar asked the candidate crouched beside her.

"Danil, bronze rider."

"_Her_ name, Danil." The boy looked up, surprised.

"She's not mine," he said. Then his expression changed to alarm. "Should I know her name now?"

T'mar quickly sized up the situation. The candidate's hand was still resting on the dragon's wing. He wouldn't leave unless he was told.

"There are eggs hatching Danil." He motioned for Danil to go off. "Try your luck."

"She's not mine?"

"No Danil."

Danil looked at the dragon. T'mar glanced down as well.

_She is not yet awakened. She needs time._

"Yalith says she will be all right." T'mar's dragon did not chastise his rider for misquoting him. Invoking the word of a dragon had the desired effect. Danil clambered to his feet, and backed away from the little green. T'mar gave him a last push.

"Good luck Danil." T'mar dismissed the candidate, turning from him to confer with the healer.

It was a quiet Hatching, he thought as the healer began his appraisal. Well, apart from the noise.

The noise was deafening. Luru found it hard to believe so few dragons could make such a racket. Lexir looked irritated, Luru noticed. Luru heard her mutter to the girl standing closest to her,

"They should take the sharding runts off the sands. Do you think they're disturbing the queens?"

That was unbelievable, even for Lexir. What if the Weyrling Master heard her? Luru peeked in his direction. He hadn't, from the looks of things. Keeping close by the queen eggs, he was keeping a roving eye on the movements beyond the dais. Luru couldn't see what was going on behind her, but she imagined the more distant goings-on probably registered higher on his list of priorities than the rocking but as yet uncracked eggs right before him.

Lexir was watching the Hatching with an air of boredom. The look didn't really add up, Luru thought. All her attention should surely be right in front of her, on the golden eggs, and even Lexir shouldn't be bored by that.

Luru watched her closely; she could see Lexir biting her lower lip slightly, as she watched each hatching below with intense concentration. Occasional flashes of relief were visible in her composed mask of disinterest. They corresponded roughly with every cheer which went up from the crowds in the stands around them.

Luru suddenly understood. That earlier comment had been sheer bravado. Whatever boredom she showed on her face was probably a cover for the emotion more commonly termed as anxiety. Lexir was concerned that the queen eggs were taking so long to hatch that she might Impress a lesser dragon in the mean time. There were occasional pairings of girls and greens. They were rare, and it was thought that dragons unconsciously recognised a greater need for male riders during Fall, who wouldn't regularly become pregnant. But in Interval? Perhaps dragons felt freer to indulge their preferences for a life partner of the same sex as themselves.

The larger queen egg suddenly split in two. Luru quickly paid attention.

The shell didn't fall apart immediately, the fissure having split the egg in two halves which overlapped as the weight of the occupant held it together at the base. The queen finally exited by throwing her full weight against one half, which shattered spectacularly into splinters. The other half rolled backwards, perfectly intact.

Luru heard the crowd gasp with interest. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards the regal Hatching and her imminent Impression.

This golden hatchling had a considered look about her.. Luru was reminded of a well-heeled Lady Holder she had once seen at a gather, carefully surveying the wares on offer at the weaver's stall. She looked at each of the candidates for a set length of time, still making no choice, although she had probably probed them all carefully for whatever it was dragons looked for.

The rocking of the second egg became more agitated, as if nagging her elder sister to make a choice. Luru knew this queen was not for her. The knowledge came in the form of quiet acceptance of a situation that appeared quite inevitable. She bowed her head demurely, declining from the dragon's attention.

As if that made up the dragonet's mind, the little queen turned around. Luru couldn't contain the thought. _Please not Lexir. _

It wasn't. The single weyrbred girl among them drifted towards the gold, whispering the name the Luru didn't catch. Yelps and squeaks behind her drowned out the sound.

The pair walked fairly briskly away from the dais of sand, the weyrgirl silent, her arm gently guiding her dragon towards the exit. The crowd murmured slightly at the anti-climax. In terms of entertainment, Luru thought it was a good thing there was an extra golden egg.

The circle of remaining girl candidates closed in around the other egg. The Weyrling Master did not object and Luru noticed that the Weyrwoman had joined him. They were in conference.

The humming stopped.

At that very moment, the second queen shattered the casing of her imprisonment. Without hesitation, she aimed for Luru.

_My name is Daruwinth,_ _Luru._

The words and then the endless wave of love overwhelmed Luru. She staggered from the force of Impression, without knowing what to say or do, except to try and maintain her balance. Lexir suddenly barged her out of the way.

"The queen's name is Irith!" She shouted to the crowds. Luru was momentarily flabbergasted.

_Daruwinth?_ Panic slowly began to seed within her. Then,

_I am here. Irith is below._

Luru quickly steadied herself from her Lexir's shove. Stepping forward, she took her place by her queen, catching her sister's arm before she touched her.

"Lexir, she's mine."

Lexir turned towards Luru with a furious glare at her sister's interference. Luru put her hand on Daruwinth's neck.

_I'm so hungry._

For a moment, Lexir's eyes went glassy. She glanced down at the golden dragonet and then looked around. Still not comprehending, she punched her sister squarely in the jaw.

The Weyrling Master was suddenly there, putting himself between the two of them.

"All right, _what _is going on?"

The unfolding drama kept the crowds riveted. Their murmurings had risen to fever pitch, almost a substitute for the dragons' humming.

Daruwinth began to wail.

_Why did she strike you? The queen tells me I should let the Weyrling Master protect you but I am angry. She should be punished. _Luru smiled, though the pain in her jaw made her wince; she had an advocate.

Some of the other girls were trying to explain what was wrong. Lexir was becoming angry and was having to be restrained by the H'nas.

"That's my dragon," she shouted. "Get that little piece of scum away from her."

"LEXIR."

The Weyrwoman's voice parted the throng of assorted failed queen candidates and weyrfolk who had collected on the dais. Even Lexir froze. Luru felt the might of the great queen's mind pressing on the situation, augmented by the considerable power of the Weyrwoman herself. So that was the power of the weyrwomen.

"There is a green dragonet known as Irith on the sands Lexir." The Weyrwoman pointed, the unspoken command for Lexir to get out of her sight.

Lexir's eyes flew to the queen, then Luru and then Daruwinth. A murderous expression contorted her eyes.

"She stole…"

The senior queen roared. Lexir fled.

The Weyrwoman motioned for two of the weyrfolk to follow her and then approached Luru. H'nas quietly gathered the rest of the girls and ushered them away.

The Weyrwoman raised her voice for the benefit of the crowd, the buzzing murmurs of which suddenly subsided to a whisper.

"What is her name Luru?"

It felt like a moment that ought to be shared with her dragon. Luru and the little queen latched eyes with one another.

_I am yours Luru._

Luru spoke clearly, answering the Weyrwoman so the whole crowd could hear her.

"The queen is Daruwinth, and I am hers!"

It was the tailored moment the audience had been waiting for. They erupted in applause with thunderous clapping and cacophonous cheering. The bronze dragons joined them in a triumphant announcement of the arrival of their future mate.

Luru blushed, whilst Daruwinth preened.


	3. Chapter 3

[Disclaimer. I own only the characters. Pern and all associated names and places are the property of Anne McCaffrey]

Sorry for the delay. This chapter underwent several revisions. I'll be more prompt with the next chapter. Keep the reviews coming. The feedback's kept me going!]

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In a strange way, Daruwinth's ravening served to disconnect Luru from the wonder of Impression. Walking off the Hatching Ground, Luru struggled to comprehend the immensity of this new person attached to every feeling she had. As weyrfolk passed her bowls of food, it was as if she were touching the earthenware through gloved fingers. Even the new bond between her and Daruwinth felt more approximate to balancing something on the end of her nose: if she touched it, it would feel like cheating. The process of feeding felt somewhat mundane given the enormity of this pairing.

Daruwinth took food from Luru's fingers surprisingly delicately, separating the meat from Luru's fingers with her discerning tongue before taking it between her teeth. This small wonder fascinated Luru for some time, slightly penetrating the numbness she felt. She lost count of how many bowls of food the little queen consumed, repeating that marvellous action of passing food from bowl, to hand to dragon over and over.

_I'm full_.

Luru blinked. Her dragon had spoken to her. In her head. Yet another marvel. A delirious grin plastered itself on her face and she swayed on her feet. _I can talk to my dragon,_ she thought.

_I love you_.

Who was to say whose thought that was? Luru set down the empty bowl and stroked her precious friend.

"Luru?" The Weyrwoman had appeared at her side. Luru turned to attend. She saw the girl who had Impressed the first queen earlier.

"Yes Weyrwoman?"

The Weyrwoman waved a hand. "Maeli, please," she said with a friendly look that dispelled the formality from the setting. She drew the other girl forward by the hand, and stepped backwards so that the girls could meet. "This is Leila."

Male dragonriders would clasp forearms in greeting. Unsure of the proper custom between queen riders, the two girls were shy for a moment.

Their dragons broke the awkwardness. _Halith_ _is her queen. She is pleased that you and Leila are to be friends in the weyr.._ Both girls stared in surprise at their dragons. Then, perhaps the same thought occurring to both of them, the girls warmly extended their hands in greeting.

The Weyrwoman left them alone, presumably to see to the other new riders. Leila waited until she was out of sight before winking at Luru, "I'm glad that if I'm going to be training under her, I'm going to be in good company."

Luru glanced in the Weyrwoman's direction. "She seemed so nice."

Leila shook her head quickly. "She is. Very well-meaning and all. But you should have heard the speech she gave before introducing us. This great rigmarole about how the queens are the most important creatures on Pern, how the fate of Pern rests with us. She wouldn't give it to you, not being weyrbred and all." She shook her head again, noticing Luru's look of apprehension. "I'm the headwoman's fosterling that's all. Maeli's known me since I had barely eight turns. She'll go a little easier on you to begin with. Don't worry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Luru felt a little shy with Leila; she used a lot of words. If not for Daruwinth, she might have been put off by her. However, she knew Leila meant well. She would certainly be worth making friends with.

Daruwinth yawned beside her. Leila noticed and gestured behind her to where some of the new weyrlings were leading their dragonets.

"We're meant to take our dragons to bed them down now. They'll sleep until tomorrow morning digesting their first meal. I'll show you to the barracks if you like. Then we can change ready for the feast."

Luru gratefully accepted the offer and the two weyrlings led their queens out of the feeding area.

*

As Daruwinth had fallen asleep, their bond had seemed to diminish slightly, as if part of her mind had closed off to Luru. It was still there, but the bond seemed more fragile.

Leila had come into her quarters already changed into a stunning robe-dress which reminded Luru of riding gear, except it was made out of red thick-pile velvet rather than wherhide. Luru had only just settled her dragon and had half-convinced herself not to go to the feast. Leila dismissed Luru's protests – "You're going!" – and practically stripped her out of her now slightly pink candidate's robe and began lacing her into a form-fitting but full skirted dress of green silk which Luru had never seen before. Her efficiency and no-nonsense attitude impressed Luru. Leila was clearly handling Impression much better than she was.

Luru would have been content with just the dress, but Leila wasn't through. By the time they were heading towards the dining cavern, Luru's hair had been gathered and braided at the back, close up to her skull in a style very befitting a queen rider and her thick leather boots had been replaced by some slippers that had presumably been requisitioned from the same place as the dress.

It felt strange leaving Daruwinth behind. As they got further away from the barracks, walking briskly through the well-lit tunnels towards the inner caverns, Luru found herself faltering. Leila tugged at her arm, but Luru stopped.

"What's the matter?" Leila stopped tugging. Luru wondered how she wasn't feeling the same thing.

"What if it breaks? The Impression, leaving her so soon. Are you not worried too?" she asked the other gold rider, desperate for some solidarity.

Leila smiled knowingly, and with understanding.

"You poor hold-bred thing," she said, laughing a little. "That's impossible."

Leila must have intuited both the great gap in Luru's knowledge and the sense of awe which threatened to overwhelm her. She took Luru's hand.

"You're probably trying to understand everything at once, thinking you have to know it all right away. And you feel it will crush you if you don't. It's beautiful and frightening and it almost hurts it's so big."

Luru nodded and wiped her eyes.

"It feels like I'm trying to balance something really precious and really big that I'm far too precarious to hold," she said, squeezing Leila's hand a little. "And it's so big and dazzling and so heavy and I can't really appreciate it because I'm trying to keep it steady. Now she's asleep and I feel really cut off and like I'm missing something."

Leila went on. "The reason they go to sleep is to digest and to adjust to the Impression. It's good for you both. They get to know you as they sleep and their personalities start to take shape. You're not really supposed to feel much at this point, but it's normal to feel anxious, I can assure you."

Luru angled a sceptical glance at the self-assured and confident weyrling. "_You_ feel anxious?"

Leila laughed out loud and shook her head.

"If you're brought up in the Weyr, you're taught this by the Weyrling Master. I'm a bit scared about leaving Halith but I know that nothing's going to go wrong. I'd be an aberration among thousands of dragonriders if it did."

Luru found that strangely comforting. She'd never been particularly reassured by the achievements of others. In a harper class, she would still be the one person to repeat a scale poorly even though she'd been the taught the same as everybody else in the class. Impression however, wasn't taught. It was a natural thing that she would develop just like walking and talking. Even though her sister had walked at five months and she a little later at eight, she had managed that. She was a normal person.

_You're actually very special_.

It was Daruwinth. Luru felt her wake up just enough to communicate those beautiful words across their bond. As the dragon returned to her slumber, Luru was left with the feeling of the most peaceful contentment she knew she could now feel, along with the immense pleasure that someone could love her so unconditionally.

Something must have shown in her face. Leila patted her hand and began to lead her again towards the dining cavern.

"We're still going to the feast then?"

"Well what's the point in Impressing a gold if you can't show off about it a little?"

It was a little unseemly, but Leila had a point. They progressed on towards the dining cavern.

*

Most of the weyr was present in the dining cavern, with both dragonriders and the staff of the Lower Caverns turned out in their finery to mark the happy occasion. A surplus of guests made up the numbers.

Luru noticed that there didn't seem to be that many new weyrlings present. Certainly not as many as there had been eggs on the sands. She wondered if all the eggs had hatched. A quick count showed no more than fifteen new weyrlings, some of whom she recognised from the Hatching Ground, others from the distracted expressions which turned with the rest of the guests to greet the two new Weyrwomen.

The harpers struck up an impromptu fanfare as Leila and Luru made their entrance. They were both embarrassed, and the applause from everyone in the room deepening the blush in their cheeks.

Luru was unsure of the proper procedure from here. It was an awkward moment for both of them at the top of the short stairway leading down to the festivities. Then, Luru noticed the Weyrwoman making her way through the tables towards them, and she nudged Leila.

The Weyrwoman seemed to disperse the crowd's attention as she led the two girls down to the feast. They returned to the succulent roasts and the crisp wine which had been prepared for the celebrations. Luru had been able to smell the roasts since early that morning. The Weyr must be intuitive to these occasions.

Luru was aghast to find herself seated at the high table, among the most esteemed guests, including the Lord and Lady Holders of Ista. Even Leila seemed a little shy as they were introduced to the Holders and their family.

"Our hope for the future of Pern, Weyrwoman Luru, rider of Daruwinth, and Weyrwoman Leila, rider of Halith. Weyrwomen, may I present Boran, his wife Sia and their children, Sian, Ira and Bagor." Luru raised her eyebrows ever so slightly at Leila, surprised at the queen rider's order of introductions and her eschewal of the holders' formal titles. It was not lost on the Lord Holder's wife. She was glaring at Luru and Leila with an air of expectancy and Luru wondered if she ought to repair the Weyrwoman's error. She saw Leila shake her head subtly, eyes down. _Don't get involved._

"They're both charming Maeli," the Lord Holder nodded at them both and smiled appreciatively. He turned to his son and daughters, who were staring with saucer-shaped eyes at the two young queen riders. Luru noticed he touched his wife's wrist in some discreet instruction. Her fingers clenched slightly, but whether it was in recoil or submission Luru couldn't tell.

"My children wanted to say something to you both," the Lord Holder said, indicating Leila and Luru to his children, who shuffled their feet, exchanged looks to check they were ready and finally chirruped in perfectly rehearsed chorus:

"Congratulations from Ista, gold riders. Welcome to your queens Hallilith and Daluwith." Luru's heart melted as they stumbled over the dragon names. Their faces were sweetly earnest. They weren't that old. The eldest, Sian, was probably about seven turns and the other two were maybe four and five. It was probably their first Hatching and in all likelihood the first formal address any of them had ever had to make.

"Halith and Daruwinth heard you," Leila said, winking at Luru. "They say hello and thank you to all of you."

Bagor's eyes went even rounder, and the girls giggled in delight. Luru could sense her dragon sleeping soundly. She guessed Halith was doing just the same. Leila was like the Lord Holder; quite the diplomat. Sian had tugged at her skirt and she was crouched down next to her, engaged in a serious conversation about Halith, how much meat Halith had eaten, how many hands she was and so forth.

Luru felt awkward again. Leila had done the right thing, ducking down to the children and excusing herself from the Lady Sia's frosty attention. She glared at Luru, a convenient target who had failed to find herself elsewhere from the tense atmosphere of the adult heights. The Weyrwoman and the Lord Holder were engaged in conversation which appeared to exclude them both. Luru caught some of it.

"…the Weyrleader is needed."

"Your numbers certainly need replenishing…"

"Was that your sister then, who you intercepted at the Hatching?"

"Hmm?" Sia had spoken to her directly. She hadn't been expecting it.

"On the sands." There was an unpleasant edge to the Lady Holder's tone: provocative, goading and not nearly blatant enough for Luru to be able to justify taking offence. Needless to say, it was a tone Luru was familiar with.

Luru decided to try a demure approach with this woman.

"There was a misunderstanding between with my sister and _my_ dragon," she said, firmly emphasising the possessive. "She believed she had impressed Daruwinth, hearing another dragon's voice. The Weyrwoman dealt with the situation." She quickly concluded the conversation, deferring back to the Weyrwoman. Sia was either a gossip or she found being vindictive pleasurable; it would do to keep the story light on details. Though as she thought about it, Luru realised she hadn't heard anything else about Lexir since she had Impressed Daruwinth.

Sia merely smirked, her expression slicing right through Luru's attempt at a diplomatic reply.

"If that's what you say my dear."

It was a devastating remark Sia turned away from her to sidle up to her husband. She sat down next to him, adopting a meek pose and taking delicate sips from her wine cup

Luru was truly stunned. What a cruel aspersion to cast over her Impression of Daruwinth. They had Impressed as soon as the little gold had broken shell. No hesitation, no consideration of anyone else. It hadn't even been a competition between herself and the others. They hadn't even been in the race.

Luru tried to remember that fabulous moment and couldn't quite. It was like remembering a taste but not having the satisfaction that came from the food being in the mouth. Desperately, she reached for Daruwinth and found her sleeping soundly. She was there, but Luru's earlier fear had returned.

She glared at Sia, nearly beside herself with fury. She could not contain herself.

"WHAT could you POSSIBLY know about Impression, you drudging piece of coarse." Luru had raised her voice in anger. The startled silence spread from the surrounding tables to the rest of the cavern. The harpers continued to play however. Ever the purveyors of tact, Luru thought their playing actually intensified. They could defuse the tense scene unfolding at the top table though.

Luru froze with embarrassed panic. She caught the Weyrwoman's eye, but there was no instruction communicated between them. She was on her own.

Luru knew she couldn't continue with this. A quick review of the words that had actually passed between them reminded her that Sia had said nothing that could be reasonably regarded as untoward. Her behaviour had been un-ladylike, but that surely set a baseline for Luru herself to rise above, not sink further below.

Sia's expression was neutral for the moment. It bordered on several things however, contempt curling the corners of her mouth. Luru could see she would play this situation to her own advantage, and she would not cede a single point to Luru. Embarrassing a junior Weyrwoman further would be all to easy for this lady holder, especially if the gold rider in question had done so herself to such a huge audience.

A man's voice abruptly rang out across the silent cavern.

"May I have your attention?"

Luru and everyone else in the cavern turned towards the sudden interruption. It came from the entrance, where Luru recognised the Weyrleader, J'mur. Luru was irrationally paralysed with worry at the thought that he might have overheard her, that he had come to punish her, that she was now in disgrace. She had certainly disgraced herself. She felt incredibly ashamed. And quite alone.

He didn't seem to be aware of what had distracted the guests however, nor did he seem to care. He took advantage of the sudden polarisation of the attention of the gathering to make his announcement.

"Some of you may have noticed that the guests of honour are somewhat deficit…" Luru cringed. "…in numbers tonight."

The vast majority of those present in the Dining Cavern had not overheard Luru's angry outburst. They gave their full attention to J'mur and forgot whatever had happened moments before.

"We are ever at our dragons' pleasure," J'mur went on, quoting a well-known phrase. "The rest of the hatchlings have deferred their Impression until a time more convenient to themselves. We must abide by them." The dragonriders laughed, leading the guests to embrace the humour in the Weyrleader's words.

"The dragons and our Weyrling Master assure me that there is every indication that the remaining eggs will hatch tomorrow. We at the Weyr invite you all to share in this second happy occasion. Those of you still awaiting news from candidates on the sands, I can tell you that they are resting tonight, and have elected not to join in the festivities tonight. For their sake, please respect their privacy and indulge in the hospitality of Ista Weyr tonight. We will welcome all the new candidates formally tomorrow, and toast them according to their new status as part of the guardian force of Pern. To those of you most recently charged with this duty, the Weyr rises in salutation to you tonight." He raised a crystal goblet of wine.

"To shells cracked, and bonds forged."

Every dragonrider in the room rose and followed suit, each turning to the weyrling closest to him.

"TO SHELLS CRACKED AND BONDS FORGED!"

Afterwards the guests echoed the salute themselves. Then someone who was carried away with it all took it into their head to salute the weyrling closest to him, ignoring J'mur.

"T'mak!"

"L'ran!"

"K'sel!"

Cheers followed each announcement of a newly contracted dragonrider name. Luru tensed, worried about further attention being brought to herself. However, the crowds seemed to have forgotten the incident already. The whole cavern raised their cups and glasses to them, with one obvious exception.

"Leila and Luru!"

The wine flowed freely after that, with good cheer restored to the proceedings. Nevertheless, Luru excused herself. She could feel it in her bones that Sia would be a dangerous enemy to have. Insulted as she had been, Luru knew that it would not do to risk another confrontation with her. It might only be a war of manners, but Luru suddenly knew the scale on which her every word and movement was now played out. She was no longer an anonymous girl fighting her corner in a minor beasthold.

As she walked back to the barracks, Luru realised that twice that day, Lexir's animosity towards her had caused her to be shown up in public. She wondered where Lexir was now, and how she was doing. Her name had not been toasted earlier.

She would have to distance herself from Lexir. It could be devastating to her position as a weyrwoman to have an enemy among her own ranks. It could be a sore spot, a source of embarrassment and a weakness which people like Sia could expose and provoke. Sia had got the measure of her immediately, Luru admitted to herself as she turned the last glow-lit corner before reaching the barracks.

I'm going to have to grow up a bit, she thought, opening the door to the small room which would house her and Daruwinth for the next turn. Daruwinth was bedded down on a slightly elevated wooden couch, her sides heaving with steady, restful breaths, wings covering her eyes.

_I'll concentrate on you, dearling. No one will ever interfere with us. _


	4. Chapter 4

[Disclaimer. I own only the characters. Pern and all associated names and places are the property of Anne McCaffrey]

Where did one start looking for a stray dragonet in Ista Weyr?

Danil admitted to himself that the logical point to have asked that question would have been before he set foot outside the candidates' accommodations in search of said dragon. Not whilst being chased from a weyr by its angry green rider occupant and his brown dragonrider companion. He bolted back down the service shaft, hoping he hadn't been identified as a candidate.

Privacy, not modesty appeared to be the dragonriders' primary motive for their pursuit however. They stopped short of following him any further than the main tunnel which Danil guessed serviced most of the lower weyrs. He heard them return to the activity he had interrupted, apparently regarding their intruder as being out of sight, out of mind.

Not that tunnel then.

Danil retraced his steps. He wouldn't be able to do anything other than that now; he'd lost his glow basket in his hasty retreat. He would have to make his way across the Bowl in the dark. He kicked himself, quite literally, on his left ankle. It was a ridiculous exercise him being out here at all.

It wasn't his dragon. He knew that. After the second queen's crowd-pleasing Impression and the controversy between her rider and one of the other candidates, he had a feeling he knew whose dragon it was. Still he had watched the little green being carried from the sands on a wher-hide stretcher, still quite inert and sickly looking. The other candidates had thought it best to steer clear of her altogether, leaving it up to the people whose job it was to care. It was a sad case, which it would be best to try and forget about.

However, he cared. Ever since the Weyrling Master had gathered the remaining candidates together and urged them to return to their quarters, his thoughts had lingered on the little green. Just as he still wondered who it might have been who Impressed the hatchling from his special egg earlier, he felt a sense of obligation to the dragon who had birthed herself over his very feet.

Even as the most resolute among the remainder of today's candidates submitted to the notion of a decent night's sleep before tomorrow's second chance, he had remained awake. He wanted desperately to find out what had happened to her.

_You're as determined as any of them. You just want to see if there's the slightest chance you might Impress today, rather than fail tomorrow. _

The supposition was his own; he couldn't really argue with it, deep down. But still, he did care. There was a connection, surely. Even if there was no Impression between he and that dragonet, he had an attachment to her.

As that thought occurred to him, he halted in the middle of the bowl. Perhaps, if he were unsuccessful tomorrow, there may yet be a role for him here at the Weyr. He could take care of dragons. He could help with their care. The Interval was nearly upon Pern. Dragonriders were more prone to take up other trades in this time, which might mean less time to take care of their dragons. Maybe a dragonrider would appreciate someone to help to take care of their friends.

Danil looked excitedly around the Weyr. There was opportunity here. Perhaps he could become a dragon healer. That green would certainly need extra care. He would ask about her in the morning, or after the Hatching. He could volunteer.

He almost couldn't wait to get started; it seemed almost as attractive a prospect as Impressing. He could look past tomorrow now.

A rustle and a contraction of the air above Danil made him look up. A shadowy outline of a mature dragon was beating its way slowly up to the watch heights. Dragons were changing watch duties. Danil froze, hoping they hadn't noticed him. Non-weyrfolk, candidate or no, would probably not be easily forgiven for wandering unsupervised and unauthorised around the bowl at night. Anyone could just wander into the Hatching Ground or the lower cavers or even the weyrs.

He stayed as still as he could, for there was nowhere to hide himself. This was the vast open space in the Weyr where wings of dragons assembled to fight Thread. He watched as the dragon overhead exchanged places with the smaller one on the ledge, who then glided low over the bowl. Danil ducked, but neither the dragon nor his rider appeared to notice the stray candidate.

Danil thought it safe to continue. He felt however, as he skipped the last half dragon length towards the guest quarters, that his resolve and optimism of mere moments before had diminished a little. He'd almost been able to reach out to touch the soft underbelly of the dragon as it had dipped low, before swooping elegantly upward in a steep curve.

*

The humming had begun, the candidates assembled, and those guests who had decided to stay for the second half of the spectacle of Hatching were now crowded in the lower tiers of the stands around the Hatching Ground. Danil was among the white-robed boys clustered around the six remaining eggs. They were thirteen in number now, just over two boys to every egg. From the size of the eggs, Danil estimated that there were probably at least two large males housed within their shells, possibly three, although that might be wishful thinking. Although Danil could say more honestly than most that he would be happy with a green, he had to admit that he did not fit the profile of most green riders. It was generally acknowledged which type of young male the green and blue dragonets were attracted to, although the Weyrfolk would stop short of picking candidates exclusively on those criteria. Greens and blues made up close to half of the numbers of a Weyr's fighting complement, and that proportion was simply not reflected in the numbers of searched candidates. However, an inclination in that direction would probably be more attractive to a female dragonet.

Danil found himself calculating the odds in his head yet again. This time, he really couldn't help it. He positioned himself at what he estimated was a near equidistance from each egg. He tried to keep as many in his sights as he could at any one time, with four being the maximum if he flickered his eyes from left to right. If an egg cracked, he would be first to know. It would be soon too. The Weyrling Master had hurried them onto the sands without ceremony and the dragons' humming was already at its apex. They'd been caught off guard in the early hours of the morning.

Most of the candidates were poised similarly, although one boy hovered around the smallest egg with fierce determination in his brows. _Staking his living for a Turn on a single catch_, Danil thought, remembering the phrase his father used to chastise he and his brothers when they were overly optimistic about the annual fortunes. The candidate – Danil knew none of their names now – looked like a person who'd bet his last mark. He was not much older than Danil.

Danil suddenly heard an outraged cry of protest from behind him. Automatically he looked, and saw the Weyrling Master leading five girls behind him, white-robed and heading toward the smaller eggs. A protest leapt to Danil's own lips. H'nas was putting girls to the greens. Probably ruining the boys' chances with those two. There was no reason the girls should not Impress and probably far more reason for greens to make bonds more specifically suited to their own sex. There was certainly precedent, and as he'd told himself the previous day, dragons were often intuitive about the needs of the Weyr. Greens were no longer needed for heavy fighting duty. Girls might produce stronger bonds and might appeal to dragons more free to make up their own minds about their choice of partner.

He bit back his protest however. The Weyrling Master had silenced the outspoken candidate immediately and there was nothing at this late stage that they could hope to do. H'nas had timed things well, avoiding a mutiny among his candidates.

He began to whisper again. "Please have me, please have me, please have me." He would not be left behind again. He would not settle for second best, taking care of sickly dragons. He'd thought about it some more; how ill could dragons really be expected to get once their only natural predator would disappear for two-hundred Turns or so? What dragon rider wouldn't want to spend more time with their dragon, flying about, rather than keeping their dragons rested in preparation for Fall?

He looked again at the boy who was now practically embracing the egg in his efforts to defend it against the competition. Perhaps he had already a candidate before and knew, like Danil, that his opportunities for future Impression were now limited.

"Just hatch," he muttered. Get it over with. Why prolong the suspense any further?

A shell abruptly broke not five feet away from Danil. A blue, who creeled piteously before the shell-hugging boy broke away from his chosen egg and took the dragonet's head in his arms, his knees trembling.

"Penrith!" His tone was astounded.

His other, forgotton egg broke open unnoticed by its guardian. A green, as expected. And it was one of the girls who Impressed her. Chaleth was her name and the boys groaned in disappointment as she led their prize away. The other five girls were encouraged by their compatriot and closed in around the other small egg, which was rocking frantically.

The shell poised briefly along its vertical access before crashing horizontally and smashing open. Unsurprisingly, another green and another girl as well. Her dragon's name was inaudible above the noisy mutterings of the spectators and one or two angry protests from the boys. Danil saw weyrfolk approaching, looking as if they meant business, should they have to intervene at all.

Hatchings were sacred however, and even the anger of those overlooked male candidates was curbed in respect for the bond that had taken shape. The girls looked hopefully at the eggs, but Danil was fairly certain that there were no more greens among them. They lingered on the sands anyway, defiant of the boys who now squared themselves up in a defensive pattern around the rest of the clutch.

Danil was sweating heavily. He had seen the crack appear on the shell of the smallest remaining egg. _I'm yours if you want me, I'm yours, yours, yours. _

He longed for an answering thought. Listening desperately, he watched the egg come apart in several large pieces which the dragonet within shook off like a canine shedding water from its coat. A brown.

Almost immediately another brown burst from its shell and the boys hesitated, unsure where to turn. That brown aimed directly for a boy of about thirteen Turns, who collapsed alongside his dragon, in tears of relief and joy, embracing his dragon around his neck. The other brown paused for a moment, making no decisions.

The candidate nearest to him boldly walked towards the brown and the dragon seemed to make up his mind.

"My dragon's name is Rampoth!" he announced, delighted, and immediately led his dragon towards the exit.

Danil stared in disbelief. That brown looked as if it might have taken anyone, and just happened to Impress the candidate brave enough to step out.

One egg left. Ten viable candidates. It would be every boy for himself after that surprising Impression. Danil was almost in tears. The odds of Impression were midden, he realised. You either took a dragon or a dragon took you. There was no probability factor. It was completely finite, and in some part predetermined. Odds were just numbers made up to comfort candidates who tried to banish or minimise the possibility of failure from their minds, before that possibility ever loomed larger than anyone could bear.

The shell split as the bronze dragonet inside tore out of his oval prison. He roared, the immature sound no less imposing than if the sound had emitted from the throat of a full-bodied dragon. He was the last dragonet, and he looked like he knew it.

The other candidates faded away for Danil in that moment. The very essence of the Hatching seemed to crystallise in his mind. Impression was between the candidate and the dragon alone. Just as the bronze was the only dragon, what if he was the only candidate? What if he spoke as a dragon did?

_I am Danil_._ I want you. _

The bronze turned to face Danil.

_I love you so much. You amaze and astound me. You're perfect, the perfect companion. Who could I ever want but you? You're the last one here. I only want you. I wouldn't settle for anyone else now. I can see you, and I can see how exquisite you are. Ours would be the most consummate union. We fit. Your name is Firenth._


	5. Chapter 5

[Disclaimer: I own only the characters. Pern and all associated names and places are the property of Anne McCaffrey]

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The strand of Thread which had wrapped around Yalith's tail was almost a dragonlength long, malevolent and voracious from end to end. Yalith roared and T'mar felt the pain rip into him through their bond. After twenty Turns of fighting Thread, T'mar had never seen anything like it. It took maybe a second longer than usual for him to make an emergency leap between, back to Ista Weyr.

"Yalith!" T'mar screamed aloud as the bronze dragon emerged barely inches from the Bowl floor. Weyrfolk scattered as the stricken pair crash-landed in a space already crowded with scored dragons, healers and injured riders. T'mar was nearly flung from his dragon's neck on impact, whiplashing back and forth against his riding straps. He hung on to the firestone sack to try and steady himself as Yalith slid to a halt.

The Thread had frozen and detached from the dragon's flesh between but it had butchered and flayed the powerful length of muscle into raw meat before splintering into harmless chips of frozen matter. Teams of healers scrambled to assist, cutting T'mar right out of his straps and lowering him to the ground.

"Help Yalith, you fools!" As three people made him lie down, he could barely put up a resistance. His dragon's pain weakened him almost as much as the bruising to his chest and abdomen he had sustained against Yalith's neck ridges and the tension in the strained muscles in his neck. He found himself looking at sky, occasionally obscured by the silhouettes of dragons, and completely unable to move to help his mate.

_Yalith…_ He found only his dragon's primal pain and confusion. He had to retreat into himself.

Both dragon and rider were dosed heavily with felis juice, numbing the link between the two of them, and calming Yalith whose concern for his rider threatened to send him between with worry.

T'mar faded into a state of semi-consciousness. His senses dulled but his mind couldn't quite slip into an state of cold rest. He lolled his head to one side so he could watch the healers work through blurry eyes. A team of men and women armed with paddles were applying the contents of a vast cauldron of numbweed to the bronze dragon's tail. The wounds were too deep to accommodate the towl dressings that were normally used to treat Threadscore. All they could do was numb the pain and hope that no infection set in. The score would be left open to the elements.

_It hurts less_.

Yalith's message was faint, as if heard through a long tunnel or thick walls. It was the felis. T'mar couldn't muster the words to reply. Feelings – love and thankfulness were all he hoped got through the haze.

"We'll take you to the infirmary now T'mar."

T'mar felt himself being rolled onto a stretcher and carried off. Sky was replaced by glowlit tunnels. As his bearers jostled him slightly around a corner he groaned slightly at the pain. He had not been lathered with numbweed as Yalith had been. His injuries were not so obvious.

He recognised the infirmary by the ceiling. Dragonriders spent extended periods of time in here. The ceiling was high and rounded, originally intended for a storage cavern before a stream of fresh air flowing through the room had been discovered, providing natural ventilation. It was blessedly cool.

The felis and the discreet lighting of the glows began to nudge him into unconsciousness. He closed his eyes as light fingers undid his flying gear. Numbweed was generously smeared onto his chest, groin and hips, and he quietly slipped into a place of bleak comfort.

*

"That may not be the last Fall, but it's certainly his," H'nas said to the new weyrlings as the bronze rider was carried away. Every face had turned pale as they witnessed the carnage. Some of them flinched every time the sun was unexpectedly obscured by the shadow of an incoming dragon-rider pair.

The Bowl was a scene of ordered chaos. Healers and dragons and riders and weyrfolk all milled around, attending to injuries by order of severity. Some riders were left to tend to their own dragons. Several solemn tableaux of dragon being gently soothed by numbweed and silent, loving vigil by their riders were oases of tranquillity.

Blues and greens seemed to have escaped with minor scorings and singe marks, whilst three bronzes and five browns lay prone with their sides, necks and wings festooned with major full or partial thickness scoring.

Dragons also delivered their stricken riders to the healers, having escaped injury themselves. Most of the healers were occupied with these casualties.

"Dragons can recover from far worse than what we riders are capable of," H'nas explained to the weyrlings. "The rider is the dragon, so it's always imperative to take care of yourself. Whilst your dragon will be able to carry on after a scoring, the same doesn't always go for you. If you're hit, it's usually the case that the Fall is over for you both."

The newly-Impressed dragonriders were united in mute contemplation over their teacher's words and the scene as it unfolded before them. They had been halfway through their first morning with their charges as the signal to prepare for Fall had spread throughout Ista Weyr. They had been instructed to take their dragonets back to the barracks and await their until given further notice. Every weyrling had grown up under the constant shadow of Threadfall; the sequence of drilled retreat under stone was familiar to each of them.

When H'nas had requested they join him in the Bowl however, only those few who had been raised in Ista Weyr had been prepared for the sight they now beheld. Even they were sobered at the sight of mutilated flesh and frenzied activity, and at the thought of their own dragon suffering, themselves in mortal danger, and of a threat so terrible that every new rider repressed the slightest hint of it in their thoughts.

Many of them could see that the bronze Yalith faced an uncertain future, perhaps crippled by the injury that affected over a third of his total length. The blue and the green riders were hardly comforted by the fact that most of their like-coloured brethren were largely unaffected by major blemishes to hide or limb. Agility and skill in the air might not be inherent traits in their dragons. They would have to be just as good, just as the browns and bronzes would have to be responsible for leading and protecting their wings.

H'nas watched each of them closely, following their reactions. Their dragons' hides would never be marred or mutilated by ravening Thread. Relief however, was not something he wanted to see reflected in their expressions.

Mostly, he saw fear. It was the same basic primal expression on nearly every face, the shade of their pallor being the only variation. Despite the spate of drawn complexions, H'nas was encouraged by the healthy emotions.

_They will remember this day_. Bronze Quirath reflected his rider's thoughts.

H'nas smiled sadly at his dragon's comment.

_You've been watching through my eyes Quirath._

_I am. You are pleased with them, no?_

_They've done nothing yet to earn it. That will have to wait until next Fall. _

_There are none who disappoint you though?_

H'nas could think of one, but he didn't dwell on that. None of the young riders assembled had fled the scene, nor had any of them shown any signs of detachment. He could hope to build on that.

_What of their dragons Quirath? Do they understand?_

There was a distracted pause as Quirath touched on each of the hatchlings' minds. H'nas could not intrude on dragon conversations. Not for the first time, H'nas wondered how dragons communicated amongst themselves. The few people on Pern who had been privy to those exchanges rarely reported on exactly how they 'sounded.'

Quirath spoke to his rider, his voice a sound that only H'nas could hear.

_They know Thread and they recognise their enemy. They cannot see it, but we know it is here._

Their bond seemed to stretch for a moment, and H'nas winced at his dragon's words. _It can never break_, he told himself.

A crack sounded overhead and the sky opened up as the wings began to return, still in tight formation. From the ground, H'nas could see one wing led by a brown rider, with every member intact.

It broke the weyrlings' daze. They blinked up at the sky only to be transfixed by a new sight: the entire complement of the Weyr appearing in the heavens like a cloud. A great amorphous shadow was cast over the Bowl by dragon wings.

After several minutes, the queens' wing appeared at last and led the Weyr in their descent towards Ista. Even the Weyrleader's wing fell in place behind the two golds and their entourage of greens and blues.

The queens touched down on the rocky floor of the Bowl, and were approached by healers to check for any minor scoring. This was the signal that Fall was truly over. Dragons broke formation, with most dragons peeling off to their respective weyrs. Others joined the queens on the ground to seek numbweed. These riders began to tend their dragons' injuries themselves, without taking valuable healing hands away from the more serious casualties lying in prone heaps around the Bowl.

"Werylings!" H'nas had to project his voice to get the attention of his charges. "Each of you is to attend to a rider and help dress any wounds they may themselves have received. We riders have a tendency to ignore our own discomfort when we feel our dragons' pain as our own. We seem to forget that the link is two-directional. Over there by the entrance to the infirmary you will find cloths and jars of salve. Don't be afraid to approach riders, you're all equals here. The only difference between you is that you have something to learn and they have something to teach. Go."

As the weyrlings dispersed, H'nas held back the two queen riders.

"Come with me," he told them, and led them over to where bronze Yalith was stationed on the ground. He knew the weyrbred girl, Leila. He had been instructing her for several weeks and he had known her in the lower caverns for far longer. She came from Harper parents, as had he. Also like himself, she had been fostered to the Weyr due to her complete lack of musical ability. He had several Turns over her, but they were well acquainted.

"Leila," he said as they drew alongside Yalith. "You'll be helping with Yalith today. A fine opportunity to continue with your apprenticeship and to show everyone why you'll make a fine Weyrwoman."

Leila nodded and immediately applied herself to the task, peeling away a layer of the fine dressings from a stack the healers were now using, soaking it first in a pail of numbweed and beginning to dress the scores at the base of the bronze dragon's tail.

The other girl moved to follow Leila. H'nas was quick to stop her.

"You should do as the rest of the weyrlings are," he told her. "Help the rider. He's been taken to the infirmary. Over there." He pointed in the general direction, and then moved around her so he could assist with the efforts to save the bronze dragon's tail.


	6. Chapter 6

[Disclaimer. I own only characters. Pern and all associated characters and places remain the property of Anne McCaffrey.

_**Sorry to take so long between updates. Life does tend to get in the way. I hope to continue writing this story, although I'll admit that the original direction I had in mind for this story may have veered a little. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.]**_

An injured rider was an injured rider. Luru had seen the weyrlings approached their seniors without any apparent regard for dragon colour or rider rank. She had been quite happy to join them. She had even started to. All H'nas had asked her to do was a specification of his earlier instruction to the rest of them: for her to attend to a rider's serious battle injuries in the infirmary, where no doubt she could learn as much as any of the others. All he had done was relegate her back to the level of the rest of the class.

The infirmary was easily found. H'nas's vague indication of the direction probably wouldn't have benefited from further clarification. The tunnel was short and served only the one chamber, well lit with glows. Luru probably couldn't have got lost.

It was very quiet in the infirmary, with plenty of unoccupied beds. Two occupied beds were obvious by the translucent, white, mesh curtains draped over and around them. There was a third which Luru could presume was occupied by Yalith's rider, as it was the hub of activity, surrounded by three healers and well-lit. They seemed to be getting on with things.

Luru approached them anyway. Before she was Searched, it had been an ambition of hers to join the Healers' Hall as an apprentice. Torish, the healer at her hold, had always encouraged Luru to observe and assist her at work. Luru knew quite a lot about fractures, head injuries and the other typical afflictions that brought beast holders to a healer's abode. Threadscore was uncommon however. Even if she was only observing this time, seeing the kinds of injuries that riders sustained in Fall would be beneficial to her; to all the weyrlings in fact. The opportunity was about to cease to be rarity altogether.

Luru drew alongside the healers at work. They had removed his flight gear and were applying numbweed salve liberally to his bruised chest and abdomen. Luru wondered if his ribs might be broken. One of his arms hung at a slight angle from its socket, possibly dislocated, Luru thought. There were a few light lacerations on the areas of his face not covered by a mask or a helmet.

Overall, he didn't seem too badly maimed. Luru looked at the rider's flight gear, which lay in a heap away from the bed. There was a web of scars across that where Thread had obviously attached itself, but the Threads had not penetrated below the surface, if the rider's skin on his otherwise blemish-free chest was any indicator. Wherhide was good, tough protection in the air, much more durable than the hides of the dragons in any case.

Luru had seen worse cases than this at her Hold. Her uncle had been trampled two Turns previously whilst attempting to brand a herd beast. Three broken limbs, one nearly amputated and a blow to the head that would have killed him had Jonir not had such a thick skull, her family had joked. He had survived as well.

Torish had not used half the amount of numbweed in the entire three months she had worked to keep Jonir alive and intact as these healers seemed to be using now. Luru watched the three healers empty the contents of two whole pots of salve on the bruised purple skin of the rider's chest. How many degrees of numb were there, really?

Luru wondered first at the waste and then worried about the possible negative impact it might have on the rider's recovery. Pain was necessary to aid recovery. That's what Torish had always told her, and it was not unlike the lessons she had imbibed from her parents about life: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that.

Luru had to ask. "Does he really need that much numbweed?"

The structure of the question only allowed the healers either an affirmative or a negative answer. All three paused briefly in their work to look at Luru, whom they had not given much thought or attention to until she spoke. One of them looked at her and must have recognised her shoulder knots, for he paused with whatever reply he was about give. The others either didn't notice or they did. For whichever reason, the one word answer they gave in unison to her query dripped with disdain.

"_Yes._" They both returned to work, one of them wielding hia spatula with renewed vigour.

Luru was taken aback by their coldness. She had indeed missed something, she knew that much. Thinking about it, she had also probably appeared as if she had been calling their competence into question. She hadn't meant to do that. Well, not exactly.

_You are not malicious and I don't think you did anything wrong. _

Luru took comfort in the reassurance from Daruwinth, but she smiled ruefully at the same time. A rider could never do anything wrong as far as her dragon was concerned. No wonder people often thought of dragonriders as an arrogant bunch, ensconced away in their Weyrs. You would never really have to account for anything as long as you had that constant advocate backing up everything you did with assurances of support and love.

An apology was possibly due. Actually, it was possibly overdue. The healers had all returned to their task and dismissed the hovering, glassy-eyed weyrling from their thoughts. They were now getting into position to put back the dislocated arm. It probably only really required two of them, but they had all joined in and had somehow all manoeuvred themselves to have their backs to Luru.

From H'nas's words as the weyrlings had watched him being carried away, Luru had imagined that the rider was in critical condition. Even though he was being treated as such, Luru had a feeling he would live. H'nas had probably been referring to Yalith's condition when he'd said it would be the rider's last fall. Those injuries had been terrible.

The rider groaned as his arm was popped back into place. Luru saw an opportunity to repair her blunder. She slipped around the healers and picked up the jar of numbweed salve. She began to paste it liberally along the afflicted joint. The healer who had refrained from making a tart reply earlier left his colleagues to come to stand slightly behind her, appraising her work.

"They tend to feel it along the bicep as well," he said encouragingly. Luru paused; she hadn't heard that. Maybe that wasn't the case and he was just giving her something to do that wouldn't actually kill the rider. Perhaps.

"Why is that?" she asked him, moving her brush down the limb. The healer smiled and came around to show her.

"Muscles sometimes tense when they've suffered trauma," he said, indicating along the muscle. "Movement and function return faster if they're encouraged to relax in this state."

Luru hesitated before following the instruction.

"Surely it's better to let them feel some pain though," she asked, a little sceptical. She had been taught that people who used numbweed to dull pain that was their body's way of telling them to rest, often ended up doing themselves further damage."

She saw the other healers bristle again. She hastened to include her reasoning.

"I've been taught that pain can sometimes be a useful thing when people are recovering. It helps them to know their limits."

The friendlier of the three healers knelt beside her now. He took the brush from her and began to tend to the afflicted limb.

"Dragons feel pain more than we do," he murmured. "You'll find that out for yourself, perhaps. It's better for both dragon and rider if we keep the rider sedated and numb. This way, Yalith can't feel his rider's pain and can concentrate on just his own. He can't retreat from his link with his rider here. Would you have Yalith feel the pain of a limb that isn't even his?"

It was very well put. Luru understood. The healer gave her back the brush, and then took a bowl of fresh water from a drudge and moved up towards T'mar's head to cleanse the sweat and grime from the rider's face with a cloth.

"You riding pairs lose all good sense when you're injured. The dragon cares only for keeping his rider safe. The rider is terrified for his dragon and resists all attempts by healers to treat him first. You're your own worst enemies in this situation."

Luru laughed a little, in spite of the graveness of it all. She had seen T'mar do precisely that outside in the bowl.

"My name is Lemba, by the way." The healer introduced himself and then indicated his colleagues who had both moved on to tend other casualties being brought into the infirmary. "That's Cathor and that's Merrin."

Luru thought that the names sounded vaguely like dragonrider names. She wondered if they had been raised in the Weyr. Had they ever stood as candidates? Perhaps their latent jealousy was manifesting as hostility toward her. Or perhaps she was just being superior. Luru checked herself and tried to banish the thoughts. It was all very well thinking that privately. But she was a Weyrwoman. She knew now that her private thoughts could affect the Weyr, to some extent. It wouldn't do.

She realised there had been a slightly overlong gap in the conversation. She blurted hastily,

"I'm Luru."

"Lexir's sister?"

Luru didn't freeze but she did look Lemba squarely in the eye. That wasn't a casual comment to just drop into the conversation. He met her eyes.

"Where is she?"

Lemba didn't look down at his work or act as if he had made a mistake in mentioning it. Turning to face her directly, he spoke to her quite calmly.

"Her dragon is dying."

Luru went numb. Then her hands really went numb. The pot of numbweed had spilled from her hands and dropped onto the sand covered floor, coating her fingers with the cooling salve.

"Oh." Luru bent to pick it up. The healer stopped her, lightly catching her arm and making eye contact with her again .

"Luru, I was told not to involve you, but I think it's important. Your sister is rejecting her dragon. Irith is very ill. It's believed that she ought to have died in her shell before Hatching. Now she risks dying not just of whatever ails her body, but of a broken heart as well."

Luru didn't quite understand.

_Irith is in pain_.

Luru jolted as Daruwinth joined the conversation. The healer, the infirmary and the injured rider on the bed in front of her all faded from her consciousness as her dragon's mind joined with her own.

_What do you know Daruwinth?_

_She asks where Lexir is. The green has a pain in her head. It will not abate, not for a moment. _

Lemba's face came into focus again, not far from hers. He had been around enough dragonriders that Luru's glassy-eyed expression was not enough to disturb or alarm him.

"What did your dragon say?"

Luru didn't answer. She asked her own question again.

"Where is she?"


	7. Chapter 7

Lexir had always resented Thread as if she hadn't known it all her life. She had complained the loudest when she was bolted away inside the hold during a fall. Once, Lexir had trapped Luru and herself outside of the hold as Thread was due to fall. Luru had screamed and yelled for her family to heed her from the inside, although it was futile. The seal on the entrance was proofed against both sound and light. Lexir said she had done it to prove that the risk of actually being scored on the ground was minimal. That was why they had dragon riders wasn't it? They could all just get on with life and let the dragonriders deal with Thread.

Luru had fled to the shore where her father kept a stone bunker for his tackle and equipment. Lexir hadn't followed her and Luru found that she could hardly care what her sister did with herself in that time. She endured five hours of Threadfall from that small cave. The distant sky glowed like sunrise in the middle of the day as dragons did their duty. As the artificial dawn approached, Luru could hear the hiss as stray Threads met a watery end in the sea. The surface boiled with the ravening throng of fish that thrived on Pern's celestial scourge during a Pass. Some landed on the beach and burrowed to no avail. They would starve before they needed to be dealt with by a groundcrew. Luru's family didn't maintain groundcrew equipment; they kept their small hold stripped bare of greenery with little difficulty. There was little danger on the salty rocks of the threads gaining purchase on their land.

What if one had found its way into Luru's refuge? What if Thread had seen her and slithered across the barren sand to where she was cowering? Luru could imagine Lexir rolling her eyes as their parents screamed at her for her recklessness as Thread rained down as she secured herself away in the hold after all.

Luru couldn't remember forgiving Lexir. Concern for her elder sister's wellbeing was a dim memory from a time well before that incident. Their mother had called for peace between them and for the family to pull together through the fishing season. Nothing had happened after all and Lexir had probably learned her lesson. As she surely had about leaving the cold storage room open when Lexir and Luru were assigned to pack away the day's catch. Lexir would not wish hard times on her entire family. These were just unfortunate incidents. If Luru could get along better with Lexir, perhaps the catastrophes could be averted by better communication.

*

As she followed Lemba along the dark service corridors of Ista Weyr, towards wherever Lexir was being kept, Luru found she could not muster the resentment she was so used to feeling towards Lexir. It was a thing of the past. She was concerned for Irith's rider. Frustrated, annoyed even, but the sympathy she felt was like an extension of the feelings she had towards her own dragon. She felt for her sister something like the sisterly bond they had never really shared.

Light was conserved in the service passageways. Lemba had to turn the glowbaskets as they went, having forgotten to carry one with him. It was not like the weyrling barracks, which were kept well-lit throughout the day and close to the open air at all times. Luru compared the inert, stale atmosphere of these tunnels with the cool airstream in the infirmary, with plenty of glows around every bed. It seemed odd that Lexir was being nursed or whatever in such bleak conditions.

"Lemba, why are we so far inside the Weyr? Surely Lexir ought to be in the infirmary or in the barracks?"

Lemba had stopped to turn a glow and he fiddled with the basket nervously, turning it back to only a half-way point. The shadows thickened. He motioned that they should continue to walk. Luru fell into step beside him.

"Lexir insisted on it. She says that it is understandably upsetting to be around her sister who has stolen the queen who was rightfully hers. She wanted to be nowhere near any of the dragons. She has said that she will remain apart until your father comes to collect her by ship." He glanced sideways at Luru.

Luru was no less than aghast. So that was what Lemba had meant when he told her that Lexir had rejected her dragon. Typical of Lexir to cast aspersion on her sister, but to actually deny that she herself had even Impressed at all was truly incredible.

"Has my father been sent for?" she said, quickening her pace just a little.

"A message will be dispatched later today, when all the casualties of today's Fall have been accounted for and dealt with. However…" Lemba grabbed Luru's arm and tugged her toward the left tunnel in a fork where she would have wandered to the right, oblivious in her urgency.

"However, no one is prepared to allow Lexir to abandon her dragon. No such thing has ever happened before. It would be devastating to the Weyr. Along here." He pointed towards a glow-lit passageway ahead.

There were no doors in the Weyr. The passage grew brighter and wider as it expanded into a small cavern. There was a bed and a small bathing pool to one side. Lexir sat stonily on the bed, glaring at the two weyrwomen who attended her. She wasn't hiding away or anything that Luru might have expected, given the pain that Daruwinth assured her that Irith was feeling.

Lemba ushered her in and then quietly retreated. Luru could see his shadow from around the corner and was reassured that he was there.

_I'm here as well. You mustn't forget me. I'm always here._

Luru still wasn't used to her dragon's presence. It was like having a spare limb that she forgot to use. It was immensely reassuring, and somewhat distracting. For a moment she wanted to just forget about her old tormentor sulking on the bed and go to a place of warmth and love and caress her dragon's soft hide.

That feeling didn't go away. As she walked towards Lexir, who didn't acknowledge Luru even as she came into full view, Luru thought how upset she was with Lexir for leaving her dragon alone for someone else to care for. This girl was her sister but she was also some kind of abomination. What kind of mind could overcome that kind of pure love between dragon and rider?

Luru stood not three feet from Lexir, looking her directly in the eyes. The weyrwomen breathed sighs of relief behind her, apparently glad that Luru obscured them from Lexir's fierce scrutiny. They didn't see how Lexir looked straight through their most junior Weyrwoman as if she didn't exist. Luru frowned.

She turned around and spoke to both of them.

"Come here and help me. She's not staying in here."

The two women exchanged perplexed glances but they obeyed. Lexir ignored her. They stood nervously awaiting further instruction. Luru took a deep breath. What she had planned was not going to be pleasant. Certainly she was not going to do it. The loss of facial features or hair was a significant possibility in that scenario. Best if she was merely the bait. She spoke to Daruwinth.

_I need your help. There are two women in the room with me, and Lexir. Can you see?_

The young dragon attested that she could. Luru wasn't sure if this would work. She half-hoped that she would encounter some resistance from Daruwinth; some jealousy at least. She told her the plan.

_I'm not speaking to them!_

Luru smiled but insisted.

The women were obviously used to the abstracted expression of a rider in conversation with her dragon. Perhaps they had personal experience of a dragon's voice in their heads because there was the merest flicker of their eyebrows as they received their instructions from the littlest gold in the Weyr. Luru eyed them to make sure they were on board with the plan and they nodded.

_Now Daruwinth. _

The two weyrwomen strode forward in concert as Luru stepped back. They grasped Lexir under each arm and hauled her up.

The explosion of limbs and hair and fingers as Lexir suddenly raged towards her younger sister caught everyone except Luru off guard. Her handlers struggled to restrain her until Lemba stepped in and pinned both Lexir's arms behind her.

"What's going on?" He hadn't been included in the telepathic strategising.

Luru motioned to the corridor they had entered by.

"Out. Into the Bowl.

"_YOU PIECE OF COARSE!"_

Everyone in the room besides Luru flinched as Lexir's shriek became a threat to the work of glass-smiths everywhere. Lemba's muscles visibly flexed as he held on to her. Luru moved towards the entrance, and Lemba followed with Lexir as forward seemed to be the direction she wanted to take as well. This continued until they came to the end of the corridor and Lexir seemed to realise that she was being removed from her inner sanctum and not just being facilitated on her murderous path towards her sister. She kicked her feet against the stone wall and tried to wriggle up and out of Lemba's grasp. The weyrwomen assisted Lemba then and helped to direct the explosive force of hair, limbs and teeth in the right direction.

Luru ignored every drop of venom that shot between Lexir's angry, gnashing teeth.

"_THIEF! WRETCH! SHE STOLE MY DRAGON, THE LITTLE WHORE! Let me GO! YOU'RE A DRUDGE. YOU DELUSIONAL THIEF. YOU HEAR? SHE STOLE THE GOLD. SHE'S A FRAUD."_

The screams echoed throughout the Weyr. They could be heard in the kitchens, the dining cavern, the private weyrs, the living chambers of the weyrfolk. The dragons were murmuring to each other as they heard it first through their riders' ears and then their own as the blaspheming green rider was dragged snarling and raving out into the Bowl.

Luru took stock of the situation in the Bowl. Most of the injured dragons and riders had cleared the area. Only Yalith and a few greens and browns remained, with their crews and attendants. All the weyrlings had departed except Leila, who continued to tend the stricken bronze's tail. The only authority figure was the Weyrling Master, and he was coming towards her with disciplinary intent written all over his grizzled face.

_Daruwinth. I need to know where Irith is._

The reply was swift.

_Irith is in the dragon's infirmary. _

Daruwinth sent a visualisation of the place to her rider. It was a cave directly across the width of Bowl from where they had emerged from the service chambers. The cave's interior had a sandy floor and had two dragons incumbent. The vision must have come from another dragon, as she could not have been there herself. It was all Luru needed to keep going.

She strove forward, brushing past H'nas as he bore down on them. People were gathering around the periphery of the Bowl, whom she likewise ignored, powering forward towards the infirmary.

Lexir suddenly stopped yelling. The silence rippled across the Weyr. The senior queen was descending into the Bowl with Maeli on her neck. Luru came to a respectful halt. She knew that she would need to explain herself. But certainly she was not going to be given what for by the Weyrling Master. She still smarted from his vague dismissal before.

Maeli on her great queen Stayth landed directly in front of Luru. The Weyrwoman dropped down from her seat and walked meaningfully over to Luru. She didn't beat about the bush.

"We've heard from Daruwinth. Now explain yourself."

The protective stance that Stayth had adopted, shielding the infirmary from intrusion, was not coincidental. Maeli meant what was Luru planning on doing next. Daruwinth would have told them everything that had happened, but not even Daruwinth could have told the Weyrleaders what Luru planned to do with Lexir. Luru knew that because she didn't really know herself.

"She needs to be with her dragon," Luru all but whispered. The queen was very intimidating. She was aware of Daruwinth rising in the barracks, anxious for her rider and still quivering from her own late interrogation by the older queen.

There was a loud silence as multiple conversations were relayed between riders and dragons. Maeli's face was temporarily vacant as she assimilated the information she was hearing from many different sides.

Luru tensed as Maeli's eyes refocused and turned hard. She winced as the Weyrwoman began to dress her down.

"You are out of order. Believe me when I tell you that we are more experienced in handling wayward riders than you are." Maeli stopped, indicating that a meek acknowledgement from Luru was in order.

Luru hesitated. Green Irith was in distress and pined for her absent rider. Said rider was about as removed from any experience the Weyrwoman cared to share as any that Luru could imagine. Lexir could not be encouraged. She needed to be forced to do what was best. She had to be made to admit she was wrong. That was what she was trying to do.

Luru hesitated because that's what she wanted to say. What had been said in those silent conveyances between dragons and riders? She might be at risk of cheeking the Weyrwoman unforgivably if she said what she thought. Perhaps the Weyrwoman was merely precluding Luru's argument.

"I believe that you are experienced Weyrwoman." Luru did not take up her earlier invitation to engage with her on a first name basis.

"You have disgraced yourself Luru. This is inappropriate, unfitting behaviour for a young Weyrwoman. You have neglected your own dragon and abused the bond between you. You have abused the rank you hold, a rank that I assure you is entirely incidental."

Luru was badly stung. Aspersions about the validity of her Impression could be shaken off by virtue of the fact that they could be so easily refuted by the truth. Daruwinth had chosen her. But the truth of the matter here was that she _had_ abused her position. She had forced her dragon to do something against her will. She _had _placed another dragon's needs over her own. It wasn't an interpretation. Those were the basic facts. Luru struggled to see if it were possible that anyone could interpret her intentions as good.

This was the second time.

"Weyrwoman." It was Lemba who spoke up. He still held Lexir tightly.

Maeli turned on the healer sharply.

"Release that rider Lemba and explain yourself."

Lemba obeyed, although not without the quickest glance at Luru. Luru nodded. Lexir slumped and didn't go anywhere. She would be as awkward about her removal from the Bowl as she was about her arrival, Luru was certain.

"I'm waiting Lemba."

The look hadn't been lost on the Weyrwoman. She saw everything. Lemba took a deep breath before beginning.

"Weyrwoman, I have never seen anything like this green rider. She is utterly without feeling for her dragon. By all rights she ought to be at her dragon's side and disconsolate at what is likely to be an imminent period of distress. I feared for her safety. I did what I thought was right for my patient."

There was a pause as the Weyrwoman took in what the healer had said. The pause lengthened as she received further information from dragonkind.

"Yet you neglected your other patient in the infirmary, did you not?"

Lemba took the accusation like a blow to the chest. He actually stepped backward.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did you not leave a critically injured bronze rider in the infirmary to," the Weyrwoman took a moment to coat her next words with considerable scorn. "To 'attend' to a patient whose condition could hardly be described as critical?"

Lemba was thoroughly taken aback as his actions were thus described. He looked at Luru in panic. The Weyrwoman wasn't finished either.

"In the same breath that you express concern for your patient's welfare I am also stunned to hear your accusation that she is 'utterly without feeling for her dragon' and that you have never seen anything like her." Maeli's shocked expression might have been hyperbole, for dramatic effect, but Luru had to admit that it was difficult to get away from the fact that those words had come from a healer's mouth.

"And to manhandle a patient in the way that half the Weyr has just witnessed in one way or another is something that I struggle to reconcile with my idea of what a healer in Ista Weyr ought to be." Maeli's tone was as cold as the High Reaches.

Lemba began to splutter.

"Weyrwoman, I appeal to you. Please…"

"The Fall is almost over Healer," Maeli said. "I don't believe the Weyr will be able to provide work for a full complement of healers within a Turn. It would be best for you to return to your hall and to your Masters." She eyed his journeyman's knots before turning away from him in dismissal.

"As for you," she said, returning her focus to Luru, who was in shock over what had just taken place. Might she be sent from the Weyr as well?

The keen of the Istan dragons prevented that possibility becoming reality for the time being. Their number had diminished by one.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm so proud of you Danil."

His mother hugged him fiercely to her breast. D'nil hadn't the heart to correct her pronunciation of his now defunct holder name. Jolill had never fostered any of her children away. She was letting go of a huge part of herself with D'nil.

He thought of Firenth and sighed as he squeezed his mother tight in a farewell embrace. She had already lost that part of him, though she could not know it and would not learn it from him.

Both Jolill and D'nil's siblings who had come to watch their brother at the Hatching were being returned to their hold at last, two days later than expected. The death of little green Irith had been too much for the dragonmen and women of Ista Weyr to contemplate their ferrying duties. With no Threadfall due for some days the dragonfolk had retreated to their high weyrs to remind themselves of the special bond they held and the first duty they had to their life mates. Ships and wagons had been tendered for that return journey that the Search dragons had performed inbound but days before for the remaining guests of the Hatching.

D'nil began to push his mother away gently. It was time to go. Sea son that he was, he knew the tides would not wait. He didn't say anything. His mother's pride was the last thing she wanted to express to him. If he were to assure her that "he would be fine" or to discourage her from worrying, she would burst into tears. On a practical level, D'nil did not want to go through this twice.

Jolill released her son finally and turned quickly away from him to stride down the gangplank, her pace quick with emotion. D'nil stepped back from the gangplank to rest his hand on the post of the Istan jetty.

It was a large passenger ship with rowers as well as three main sails. It seemed indecent really, given it was to carry all of twelve human passengers. D'nil had not seen the Lexir board her father's ship, but he did not envy his own family her company on board the vessel. Apparently she had boarded the ship with her head high, without assistance or a veil of felis to ease her own grief.

He shuddered as he felt the wave of desolation pass through him again, residual grief that his dragonet was beginning to forget, but for which he would retain the memory forever.

D'nil whispered his dragon's name _Firenth _in his mind. He had his own dragon. He would never be parted from him. He yearned to return to where his dragon was coiled on the sands by the lake, but he was resolved to see his family depart.

The main sails remained furled as the ship was pulled away from the jetty by the oarsmen. They would remain so until they left the slight and shallow harbour.

The motions of cast off and the heavy pull of the oars seemed desperately slow to D'nil. Perhaps it was just the greater bulk of the hull that seemed to slow all those quick practiced motions down to D'nil's trained eyes. Perhaps it was the heavy burden it carried within.

D'nil watched loyally as the ship retreated into the distance. He contemplated the sleepy wake the ship trailed, a tug in the water's fabric. He had begun to fancy he could see something similar wherever a dragon went, as the dragon parted the sky so he or she could pass between.

A shimmer in the shape of the now distant ship showed D'nil that the main sail was dropped. He couldn't see the rise and withdrawal of the oars from the sea for it was it too far away. Now it would speed ahead, with the wind billowing out the canvas and pushing it homeward.

_Home_, D'nil promised himself. _Home will be my first journey between. _

D'nil returned as the dragonets were rousing themselves from their naps. Just like hungry chicks cawing hungrily for their parents they began braying and mewling for their mates to come to them. D'nil observed this with a smile that he couldn't help, despite the atmosphere of recent tragedy that seemed to hang over Ista Weyr like a fog. He was the first to arrive back to where the dragonets had been put down for their naps. Each dragonet raised their wedge heads to glance at him hopefully as he passed. There were so many wings and tails, D'nil had to step carefully to avoid squeals of anguish that he knew would come from these miniature hypochondriacs.

_D'nil_.

The bronze rider felt his fate slide into the most involuntary and automatic expression of puppyish adoration as his dragon bespoke him. He saw the bronze shape moving towards him and he stopped to let the dragon make the perilous journey himself. Now that he wasn't watching where he put his feet, he was able to look ahead and he noticed something about the circle of dragons that Firenth had just broken.

The bronze dragons had lain in an apparently proprietorial ring around the two queens. He didn't remember leading his dragon in that direction, nor had he noticed that when he saw to it that his dragon was sleeping and comfortable in the warm sands before leaving to see his family off. Had it been some unconscious instinct on his part to do so?

He certainly hadn't noticed the proximity of Daruwinth when he had settled Firenth. He might have taken steps to avoid her if he had known. Certainly he wanted nothing to do with her rider. Like all the weyrlings and most of the Weyr he had witnessed her disgrace in the Bowl. There was an unspoken consensus among the class that she was responsible however indirectly for the untimely death of the little green.

D'nil remembered that little creature hatching over his boots. She could have been his.

He did not know if the queen riders were expected to have training as the rest of the weyrlings did.

Firenth greeted him by pushing his head into D'nil's embrace. D'nil stroked the magnificent face and gazed into the faceted eyes in wonder. It was like suddenly finding his own soul had form and he was entrusted with its care. Running his hands down the bronze neck, his fingers tripped over a rough patch where D'nil's first growth had begun to split his hide.

"Let's get you to the lake," he said softly, his fingers lingering on the scaly patch as if it might spill open. He led the dragonet towards the shore where there were shallow troughs filled with oil.

They had only been shown the bathing and oiling procedure the once. After that, the weyrlingmaster had told them, they would know what to do. D'nil accompanied Firenth into the water until he stood knee deep, at which point he let his charge immerse himself in the warm water. It was fresh water, and it was thought to share a source with the rest of the Weyr's free flowing drinking water. Just as well. D'nil and the rest of the weyrlings had received a morning nap's worth of lectures on the maladies of the pelt that just salt-water could cause. Only once the oil had begun to seal the lesions could the dragons be allowed to play and dip their wings in the sea. This dragonish eczema diminished with age, where regular oiling began to strengthen the hide and the skin stopped giving way to the growth of new layers every two days. For now though, oiling was going to be a meticulous ritual where the rider responded to the slightest complaint from his dragon.

Firenth's nostrils and eye ridges appeared playfully above the surface of the lake.

_I see you_.

_I see you._

D'nil laughed as his dragon and he shared the same thought. Firenth dipped below the water again with barely a ripple and D'nil was briefly reminded of days of his youth spent on his father's ship petrified of the super Threads that his brothers swore to him lived just below the surface, waiting to consume any man-over-board. The calm days were the worst, his eldest brother Raboor had teased him, where a boy is tempted to dive into the lazy swells and then they grab you and begin to eat you slowly from toe to head so quietly that you wouldn't notice until you tried to pull yourself out again and realised everything below the waist was gone. Tiny bubbles on the surface were all the warning you'd have.

D'nil was suddenly yanked from his reverie by the frantic splashing of bronze wings, forelimbs and tail as Firenth suddenly appeared to be attempting to be making his first flight.

_Thread! Thread in the water!_

All the dragons asleep on the shale beach awoke simultaneously and began a cacophony of squeals and roars that hadn't been heard since the Hatching.

D'nil flinched at his dragon's cries of alarm and terror. As he filled his lungs to scream for someone to please help his dragon, Irith's poor pained face flashed into his mind's eye. He splashed helplessly in the water, not knowing whether to retreat to the relative safety of the shore or to risk life and limb to avoid a dragonless existence and save his dragon from utter consumption by Thread.

His eyes locked on his Firenth who wings and body appeared to be wrapped in silvery ropes tethering him to the water's surface, pulling him down into the deep water where he had been playing a moment before.

As the water reached a boiling consistency around the hysterical beast, D'nil plunged forward.

_I'm coming. FIRENTH!_

_D'nil. NO!_


	9. Chapter 9

Luru fidgeted as she waited for the Weyrleaders to arrive. She had been summoned to come to the meeting rooms at Ista Weyr that morning after two days in which no one had said a word to her. Luru had narrowly avoided any further interrogation or reprimand by the Weyrwoman after the realisation of Irith's death had dawned on every dragonrider in Ista Weyr, but her borrowed time had no expired.

As she waited, the scene kept flashing before her eyes. As the Weyrwoman, the healers and every proximate rider ran to support the now dragon-less Lexir, she had been pushed aside. She had watched Lexir keenly nevertheless and had been appalled by what she saw. Her face bore no evidence of the pain that went soul-deep in dragonriders. The trace of a triumphant smirk had slithered over her face as she looked right at Luru.

Lexir had been bundled off into the Weyr and apparently dosed with Felis. She was in shock, the weyrfolk said.

Dragons who could fly had collected their riders and swept up to the high weyrs. After the flurry of wings and human activity in the Bowl had cleared, only the most injured dragons and their healer teams remained as small clusters of movement. The weyrlings who had been in attendance of the dragonriders on the floor were dotted about like dropped tools. H'nas had collected them together and encouraged them to go back to their weyrmates.

Luru had responded to Daruwinth's pleas for her safe return and she had gone with the rest of them. None of them had deigned to speak a word in her presence ever since.

Grief had hung in the air for two days like a mist. Luru was not exempt from this feeling but she had known that she would be called to account for her behaviour eventually. Instead of the slightly mechanical and scheduled motions that the rest of the weyrling class adopted to the more menial tasks associated with caring for dragonets, Luru approached each task with brusque efficiency. She had attempted to remain inconspicuous, making sure that she was a step ahead of every task. She cut the first gobbets from the carcasses, Daruwinth's feeding completed before the other dragons were even hungry. She had poured the oil into the trough herself rather than waiting for anyone to do it for her. Weyrling classes seemed to have been adjourned for the last two days and by eating only the bread, soup and porridge that was available at all hours, she had avoided all but the minimum of required contact with other riders.

That morning she had been up with the dawn to feed and oil Daruwinth. As soon as she was fed and clean Luru had been about to take her dragon back toward the barracks when the headwoman had appeared with a message on a folded piece of hide which she delivered to Luru with no more conversation than the written summons demanded.

The message had told Luru to attend a counsel between herself and the Weyrleaders as soon as she had finished oiling and feeding her dragon. The tone of the message was curt and something about the way the headwoman looked meaningfully at her as she began to hurry Daruwinth toward the barracks had made her think again. Telling Daruwinth to settle for a nap on the shingle, Luru had left immediately. She had seen the other weyrlings trooping along toward the lake as she left, their full bellies swinging.

It was a drudge who escorted her towards the meeting rooms. He was the only person she had yet encountered who seemed unaware of her disgrace. The journey through the long, glow-lit tunnels had reminded her painfully of Lemba. He had gone, that much she had been able to gather.

The meeting room had no tapestries on the wall. Just a round table with chairs for where Weryleaders, Craft Masters and Lord Holders convened to discuss the fate of Pern. It was a windowless room, but there were two entrances. The meeting room was also quite cold and the drudge opened only a single glow to light the room for her. Luru hadn't dared to open anymore, even though close to an hour had gone by and still there was no sign of the Weyrleaders.

Luru fidgeted out of nervousness and anxiety that the memories were dragging up. Boredom was becoming a part as well now though. Daruwinth was asleep and although Luru knew dragons dreamed, they seemed to be beyond the limits of the Luru's observance.

Luru was picking at the dirt underneath her fingernails when the door behind her cracked open and the Weyrleaders walked in. Luru pulled her hands apart quickly and rose as they rounded the table to sit opposite her, by the alternative exit.

The Weyrleader - who had toasted her with such aplomb the other night - did not look at her, unlike Miley who glared through the gloom at Luru.

"Did it not occur to you to turn a few glows?"

Luru flinched at the ice in the Weyrwoman's tone. It was one of those horrible situations where she knew she couldn't do right for doing wrong. There was bait in that tone as well, with Maeli trying to make Luru flustered and fuss about trying to open another glowbasket, which would then probably give the Weyrwoman an excuse to fling further criticism her way and snap at her to sit down.

"I'm sorry Weyrwoman." Luru remained standing but did not move.

Maeli didn't miss a beat. "Well turn some girl, I'm not going to conduct a meeting in the dark."

Luru obeyed, her feet filling with leaden reluctance as she moved around the room towards the Weyrleaders to turn the other four glowbaskets. She felt the graze of knives in the air as she passed them both.

She returned to her seat and quickly sat down without waiting for the Weyrwoman to command it. She had a feeling the Weyrwoman would probably see any diffidence as insolence.

"There is one thing I need to make clear," Maeli began as soon as Luru let the seat take her weight. Luru jumped at her abruptness. She didn't have to make an effort to look attentive.

"I am not interested in your reasons, excuses or pleading." Luru stared back. She had none to make at this point. The Weyrwoman continued.

"Your behaviour is such that we find it unacceptable to the Weyr and we are putting measures in place to have you removed herewith."

Luru was strapped for speech. She wasn't even sure what that meant. Did they intend to separate her from Daruwinth?

It was the Weyrleader who surprised her by continuing.

"You and Daruwinth will be transferred to Igen Weyr," said J'mur. "There is no weyrling class there at present and there is not expected to be one for a good two Turns. It will be easier for everyone."

So she was not to be separated from Daruwinth. Luru relaxed slightly and thought of how ludicrous that idea had been. No dragonrider would be that cruel to another. But Igen Weyr? Luru knew little about the smallest Weyr other than that its one distinguishing feature. There had to be another reason they were sending her there though. If they wanted to exile her, surely they would have done better to send her to the High Reaches or to Telgar.

"How will I get there?" Luru's voice came out hoarse and she cleared her throat. "I cannot fly there myself."

"You and Daruwinth will be flown adragonback by a willing escort, provided we can find one." The Weyrwoman's poisonous barb stung and Luru stiffened. She thought about what the leaders had just told her. I've nothing to lose, she thought and straightened up in her seat.

"Am I being held responsible for the loss of Irith to Ista Weyr, Maeli?"

J'mur stood up and put his arm across Maeli as a tremor of anger seemed to propel the Weyrwoman to her feet.

Luru was about to carry on, goading Maeli into some sort of angered honesty, but the Weyrleader spoke first.

"It will be better for all concerned, Luru. We _all _know that you did not bring about the death of that poor green and that the damage was done long before she went between. But damage has been done beyond that which has happened to your sister. The weyrlings..."

"We do not need two more junior queens at Ista J'mur," Maeli's words sliced through her partner's sympathetic tone. "R'hut and Nell of Igen expressed their interest in acquiring one of the pair of golds even before the Hatching. She will go."

There was something in the timbre of Maeli's tone that made Luru aware of some other authority in the Weyrwoman's words as she pressed her will upon the bronze rider. He held up his hands. Luru glanced between them. She was suddenly reminded of the night of the Hatching, when she had overheard part of Maeli's exchange with Lord Holder Boran. The Weyrleader had been mentioned then. Has she been undermining him in collusion with the Lord Holder?

That night had been the key she realised. Maeli had been embarrassed by Luru then and had probably relished this as an excuse to remove her. She remembered how J'mur had smoothed over the situation, and how he had toasted her with as much aplomb as if she hadn't been so outspoken to a Lady Holder in a public gathering, so no one even remembered what she had done. She had been grateful to him then.

_Luru!_

_Daruwinth. You're awake. Have you been_

_Luru. At the lake. A bronze says there is Thread in the water!_

Thread in the water? Luru frowned. She had heard the hiss and watched the Threads as they drowned in the ocean herself. Thread could not survive in aquatic conditions, she knew that for a fact.

It appeared nothing had been communicated to the Weyrleaders. J'mur turned his head away from Maeli and took his seat again as she drilled her gaze into him.

"Weyrleader?" Luru spoke up sharply.

J'mur kept his eyes down. Maeli's face turned murderous as she turned her attention to Luru. She snapped, "_What_ is it?"

"Trouble by the lake," said Luru listening to Daruwinth as she flooded her mind with what she could see. "Firenth and D'nil."

The Weyrleaders pushed back their chairs and swept out of the second exit without another word. Luru didn't follow them; she was utterly absorbed in her dragon and what she saw.

She was aware of the bronze dragonet struggling and the boy standing helpless knee-deep as he watched. The dragon was trying to escape. Daruwinth shared what she could hear of his panic.

_Thread in the water! _

The bronze dragon did appear to be wrapped in silvery bands. The dragonets watching on the shore were squeaking in fear; they believed it and they were trapped without firestone or their riders nearby. Nor could they save their clutchmate. _Irith_ was the name whispered, although no one knew who started it.

Firenth's wings were too small and weak and heavy with the weight of water. He hadn't a hope of taking flight. Then Luru gasped as she became aware of his rider plunging in to save his mate, come what may. That was the real danger. Luru and everyone else heard the dragonet scream in horror at the sight of his rider entering Thread-infested water. _You'll die D'nil._

Luru screamed out to Daruwinth. _Calm him! It's not Thread. It's not real! _

_CEASE!_

Luru rocked on her chair, shaken by the force of the command. Then there was silence.

_What of Firenth, Daruwinth?_


End file.
